


Promises

by freckledandspectacled



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fix-It, Love Confessions, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: When Oswald finds Edward in Arkham Asylum, he isn't solely seeking the help of the Riddler. This is that story.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> This was written partially as a request, but mostly to fix some parts of canon that I personally found wanting. Mainly: 1. The scene where Oswald calls Edward ‘Riddler’. 2. The missing kiss and hurt/comfort scene we should have gotten following 4x15. And 3. An explanation of Lee’s motivations in 4x17 that makes sense, where everyone is still happy in the end. Because I’m that person. This is also technically a continuation of this very short fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909131. Just read it quickly if you want the beginning of this to make more sense lol.

“You came back!” Oswald exclaims, a wide smile splitting his face as he enters the intake room of Arkham Asylum.

 

“You—what are you talking about?” Edward asks, whipping around in his seat as the Penguin enters.

 

“I was expecting you,” Oswald says, winking at him. Edward’s eyes narrow.

 

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m not here for you,” Edward says, his tone final. “We’re done.”

 

“Are we?” Oswald says, blinking once, twice. Slowly. “Because I had the most _interesting_ chat with your other half last time.” Edward slowly rises from his chair, eyes never wavering from his adversary.

 

“How do you know about him?” Edward asks, backing himself against the desk. “Why would he want to talk to you?”

 

“You’ve missed me, haven’t you?” Oswald asks, ignoring his question. It’s quite self-explanatory, if only Edward can manage to calm himself for a moment and think about the facts at hand. “You just couldn’t stay away.”

 

“I do _not_ miss you,” Edward says, pointing aggressively at Oswald for emphasis. “I think you’ll recall that you _attacked_ melast time. So… _no_ , I wasn’t exactly eagerto see you again. And I only saw you the other day to show you how well I’m doing _without_ you.”

 

“That’s not why _he_ wanted to come,” Oswald says, stepping closer. Edward eyes him nervously, and he pauses. “Though I do wonder how he tricked you into it…”

 

“He didn’t trick me, I came here to—to…” he trails off, staring somewhere below Oswald’s chest. “Oh… oh no.”

 

“Now you’re getting it,” Oswald says, clapping his hands together.

 

“I came here to save Lee,” Edward mutters, finally puzzling it out. “I could never figure out why he kept insisting that I’m in lovewith her, threatening her… there didn’t seem to be a purpose. But it was all just a ploy to get me here—”

 

“To get you to _me_ ,” Oswald says, smirking. Edward stares at a spot somewhere on the floor, grip white-knuckled on the edge of the desk. This is _bad,_ very bad—

 

“Well, you’re not as slow as I feared,” Oswald remarks, examining his nails.

 

“And whose fault would that be!” Edward exclaims, pulling his hands from the edge of the desk and clenching his fists. “You put me on display in a block of ice for _months!_ ”

 

“That I did,” Oswald nods. “Seemed like a good idea at the time… Now, have you figured out why he wanted to see me?”

 

“There’s no way he believed your stupid letter,” Edward mumbles, tangling his hands in his hair.

 

“I bet he liked it,” Oswald says. “I bet you both did.”

 

“I did _not!_ ” Edward shrieks.

 

“There’s more to you than just _you_ , Ed,” Oswald says. “And part of you did.”

 

“But I’m in control,” Edward sneers, pushing his glasses up his nose. All at once, he seems to come to a realization. “Let me guess… that’s your play, isn’t it? You put him in control in exchange for your freedom.”

 

“He wants me to set him free, and in exchange he’ll do the same for me,” Oswald says, stepping forward again. “But that’s not appealing to me either.”

 

“What do you mean?” Edward whispers. He’d been so sure that any moment now Oswald would call _him_ forth.

 

“You’ve changed,” Oswald begins. “You’re so much more than the Edward Nygma I created.” Edward opens his mouth to interrupt, spitting mad at the implication, but he’s silenced by Oswald’s raised hand.

 

“Let me finish. I told you once that what happened on that pier would change you. But no matter who you are, or who you become…” Oswald moves forward and takes hold of his biceps, his green eyes filled with such an intensity that it makes him shiver to be the object of it. Edward feels trapped here, trapped between Oswald and the desk, ensnared by his gaze, hypnotized by his words. It feels as though Oswald is weaving a spell around him.

 

“I will _know_ you,” Oswald says, squeezing his arms. It doesn’t hurt, but the act makes him whimper. Even when he isn’t touching him, Oswald always has a hold on him. “And—and I will _love_ you.”

“You don’t mean that—” Edward protests, grabbing his lapels in turn, fingers fisted in the material of his suit to ground himself.

 

“I love you, _Riddler_. Allof you.” That _name._ Edward feels a sudden sense of vertigo, swaying in Oswald’s grasp. Oswald pushes him back against the desk to keep him upright, his grip like steel bands around Edward’s arms. Riddler rises to the forefront of his consciousness, laughing mirthfully. But he doesn’t take the spotlight, doesn’t wrench control from Edward. He can’t. Oswald has asked for _both_ of them. For the first time since he left the ice, Edward loses track of the Riddler’s specter. He comes to with a start, finding himself in Oswald’s embrace, his head tucked into the crook of his shoulder. It’s just them now. Him. Complete. _Whole._ Only Oswald could ever hold all of his pieces, he should have _realized…_

 

There’ll be time for that later. He has _plans._ Edward straightens up, straightens his glasses. Smiles warmly at Oswald in thanks for this gift, the gift of _self_.

 

“Shall we get to work?”

 

***

 

Edward kneels on the pier, taking in the sight one last time. He used to love the view from here. Now he can’t wait to close his eyes and never see it again. He’s made his choice. He’d sooner die than betray Oswald, betray the man who accepted him in his entirety. He won’t lose that again, not ever.

 

“Just _do it_ ,” he spits, blood making his tongue feel slower, every word an act of masochism as his mouth erupts in _agony_. A gunshot, _he’s dead_. Another soon after. An echo? Would his brain be able to process the aftermath long enough to hear it? To think these thoughts? He turns quickly to one side, then the other, watching to bodies of his captors fall next to of him. He scrambles for a gun, won’t be the next body to drop, that’s for sure _._ Edward whips around, rising to his feet, gun drawn—

 

“Oswald.” Of all people… he hadn’t expected him. “How? Did you already kill Sofia?”

 

“No,” Oswald says, gun still raised. Perhaps it’s this place that has him so defensive. “She left the mansion to pursue Jim Gordon.”

 

“Why didn't you just stay at the home? Wait till she came there and killed her?” Edward asks, possibilities and scenarios and contingencies rapidly unfolding in his mind.

 

“Then I wouldn't have been here on time.” Cognition screeches to a halt.

“You gave up your revenge for me?” Edward asks, confusion overwhelming him. Oswald had said the words, of course, but _this_ —this was— Oswald sighs.

 

“Trust is so very hard to find in Gotham, but I trust you, Ed,” Oswald informs him, pocketing his gun. Edward hesitates a moment, following suit as he puts on the safety, gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers at the small of his back. He moves to stand beside Oswald, taking in the view once more.

 

“I have a strong desire to never, ever see this pier again,” Edward says, stalling for time as he tries to find the words.

“I agree,” Oswald emphatically adds. He turns, and Edward carefully touches his shoulder, halting him.

 

“You trust me?” Edward asks, eyes flicking over Oswald’s face.

 

“I trust you,” Oswald affirms. Edward smiles, even though it pains him to.

 

“I love you too.” Oswald’s jaw drops, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Edward feels a little proud of himself, having reduced a man usually possessed of such eloquence to dumbfoundedness.

 

“You—” Oswald begins, holding Edward’s arms again, moving closer. He closes his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief and stepping away.

 

“I would also like to kiss you,” Edward tells him, wanting to recover the moment. “I know you don’t mind blood, but if you’d just be careful—” Oswald presses a gentle finger to his lips, silencing him.

 

“You talk too much. Say less,” he suggests, hand moving to reverently cup Edward’s sore jaw. It travels into his hair, to the nape of his neck. Edward nods silently and leans down, pressing his lips to Oswald’s as softly as he can manage while still calling it a kiss. It’s the antithesis of the man he’d obsessed over so long ago. A brutal serial killer with a lust for power is kissing him as gently as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. He wraps his arms around Oswald’s waist, holding him tighter, whimpering as he increases the pressure on his mouth and his injured leg. Oswald immediately parts them.

 

“You need to get this looked at,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Edward’s face.

 

“Lee can patch me up,” Edward assures him. “I’m assuming you have transportation for us?”

 

“Of course,” Oswald smirks. “I stole a Rolls from the Falcone estate.”

 

“Riding in style, as always,” Edward teases. They make their way to the car, Oswald not so subtly wrapping an arm around Edward’s waist, supporting him as he limps to the car. The patch of blood on his thigh isn’t growing, which he takes to mean good things, though it hurts like hell. Oswald drives them to the Narrows, parking on the street and making to get out. Edward halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“You should go see Martin,” he insists, “I’ll be okay here.”

 

“Martin will be fine where he is,” Oswald counters. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

 

“Lee will help me,” Edward insists. “You don’t have to wait around.”

 

“And you don’t get to decide what I prioritize,” Oswald says, ending the argument. “Let’s get you inside.” They both wince down the steps to the clinic, making Edward wonder why a clinic for injured people would involve _stairs_. He’ll have to talk with Lee about relocating somewhere with an elevator, or perhaps on the ground floor…

 

They wait for some time, chatting about Edward’s observations of the Narrows, what they’ll have to do about Sofia now that their plan has gone sideways, if Martin will enroll in a public school or if Edward can rope Lucius into helping him tutor a wayward, mute orphan boy. According to Edward, ‘Foxy’ seems to have a soft spot for the orphan type… After about an hour has passed, Oswald is quite sick of waiting.

 

“We need to do something about your injuries,” he says, standing and rifling through the cabinets.

 

“You shouldn’t touch her things,” Edward warns. Oswald merely scoffs, pulling out supplies.

 

“You’re her friend, she won’t mind,” he assures Edward, filling a cup with some salt and then running the hot water tap. “Here, rinse with this. It will help your mouth heal.”

 

He brings the cup to Edward, passing it to him. Oswald and his folk remedies. It reminds him of the ginger tea with lemon… Edward rinses his mouth out with the salt mix. It stings horribly, but he knows it will help. When he spits it back out into the cup, it’s almost entirely red with blood. Oswald hands him another plastic cup with the mixture, dumping and refiling the other one, rotating the two until his used rinse is mostly clear. Oswald wets a paper towel and oh so gently wipes his face, frequently wetting and drying so as to use as little pressure as possible on Edward’s sore cheeks and jaw. It’s a slow process, but eventually Oswald seems satisfied.

 

“Alright, take off your pants,” Oswald says, turning and throwing out the paper towels. Edward is glad Oswald can’t see the flush on his face as he collects the rubbing alcohol, gauze, and bandages. He undoes his belt and puts it on the table next to him, standing and balancing precariously on one leg as he grapples with the fastenings of his pants and pulls them down, sitting back on the table and folding them beside himself. Oswald turns then, expression neutral as he lays his supplies next to Edward, handing him a small bucket.

 

“If you can, hold this under your leg. I don’t want to make a mess of the good doctor’s office,” Oswald says. Edward obeys, wincing as he begins to pour rubbing alcohol over the wound. It’s a struggle not to flinch away from the pain. Merging with his alter has improved his tolerance for pain somewhat. He had been created to take Edward’s childhood beatings, after all. Unfortunately, the merge has not resulted in the elimination of the sensation of pain entirely. Satisfied, Oswald takes the bottle away and caps it, placing it back on the desk. He pats Edward’s thigh dry, taking the bucket from him and disposing of the waste.

 

“I didn’t know you were skilled in first aid,” Edward says, watching him carefully. “You’d never treated your wounds when I found you.”

 

“Didn’t have the means or the opportunity,” Oswald replies. “I became quite good at it. Couldn’t exactly show my mother.” Edward hums, wondering what it would have been like to have a mother who wanted to help him. What it would have been like to care about her, such that he’d want to spare her the pain of seeing him injured. A mother who would have been pained at seeing him injured at all—he shakes the thought free. Doesn’t matter now.

 

“Well, thank you for helping me,” Edward says. “Maybe once you’re finished, we can go see Martin.” Oswald glares at him.

 

“I’m not leaving until you’re seen to by a professional, Edward. That’s final.” Edward smiles.

 

“I think I like it when you get bossy,” he whispers, tracing his nose along Oswald’s jawline. He sees a muscle in his cheek jump as Oswald freezes, swallowing harshly. He presses gauze over Edward’s injury, wrapping bandages around it to keep it in place.

 

“Behave,” he commands warningly, making Edward want to do anything but. He waits until Oswald has taped the bandage in place, wrapping his good leg behind Oswald’s and running his foot up the back of it. Oswald shivers, and Edward pulls him closer, between his thighs.

 

“Why would I do that?” Edward asks him, voice low. Oswald kisses him, still so careful. Edward wraps his arms around Oswald’s waist, pulling them flush. It’s not good enough. He wants to be _closer_. Edward opens Oswald’s soaked purple robe. “We should get you out of these wet clothes.”

 

Oswald groans, helping Edward pull it open. A moment later it surrounds him, the material brushing the outsides of his thighs, cover him. Hiding them from view. Edward isn’t sure why this feels more private than being alone in Lee’s office. Perhaps because it’s Oswald who’s shielding him, enveloping him. He opens his mouth against Oswald, encourages him to do the same, lips locked more securely and just as softly. Then there’s the noise of a door opening, and Oswald is out of his arms. Edward shivers at the sudden cold, goosebumps forming on his bare legs. He shoots Oswald a frown, but the other man is a blank slate.

 

“What were you up to?” Oswald casually asks.

 

“Reclaiming the Narrows,” Lee says gruffly, going to the sink. There’s blood on her face, and the tap runs red with more. “Just stopping by to grab something for my hand.”

 

“I need medical assistance,” Edward pipes up. “And then we need to figure out what to do about Sofia.”

 

“Oh, that’s been handled,” Lee remarks, fussing with a pill bottle and popping one into her mouth. “I shot her in the head.”

 

“You _what_?” Oswald asks, eyes going wide.

 

“Did I stutter?” Lee deadpans. “Anyways, I have to run—”

 

“I still need your help,” Edward interjects. She pauses, turning back to him with a measure of… reluctance? She sighs and comes over, arms crossed as she stands before him.

 

“What’s wrong?” Curt, to the point. Well, _excuse_ him for wanting a modicum of sympathy from his friend.

 

“I had my gums drilled, and received a puncture wound to the leg,” Edward says. Lee grabs a flashlight from the drawer.

 

“Open? Tongue up. Close.” She uses a wooden stick to pull his cheeks away, observing the damage. “Just do salt rinses. You don’t need stitches. I could put cotton where the worst of it is?”

 

“I think I can manage that, as for my leg—”

 

“These bandages look good,” Lee says. “I’m sure it’s fine. Now, I know you understand what a critical period this is for me, what with the recent power exchange. I need to be visible to the people. Come find me if it gets worse, but I have to get going.” She’s out of the door before he can even formulate a reply.

 

“Her bedside manner is _deplorable_ ,” Oswald remarks.

 

“She’s always handled her patients in the fight club like that,” Edward explains.

 

“Yes, but you’re not just a _fighter_ , Ed. I thought you ran things together?”

 

“We did—we _do_ ,” Edward explains. “I just… she _shot_ Sofia?”

 

“I knew she had it in her,” Oswald says, smiling after her. “Well, I can’t say I’m pleased it wasn’t me, but I’m glad to know she’s gotten the job done.”

 

“It’s out of character for her,” Edward says, tilting his head. “She was different, after the Tetch virus, but she’s not like _us_.”

 

“And what are we?” Oswald asks.

 

“You know what we are,” Edward says. “Lee cares about people.” Edward goes quiet for a moment.

 

“I think what Sofia did... _scared_ her. Lee had her agency stripped away by the Tetch virus, and then again by Sofia. She was mutilated and thrown onto the streets… you can understand that, surely?” Edward says. While he’d lost his smarts for quite some time, it was somewhat different than the physical. Edward had experienced plenty concerning that end of the spectrum of abuse growing up. The sense of helplessness, however brief, was a feeling you remembered forever. Now they’d all been through something similar.

 

“And because of that, she’ll do anything to maintain what power she has,” Oswald says, contemplative. “Be careful with her.”

 

“I don’t have to fear her,” Edward says. “Just play along. Make sure she doesn’t do anything… she wouldn’t do.”

 

“How will you know?” Oswald asks him. “Neither of us possess a moral compass akin to that of the good doctor.”

 

“I could phone a friend?” Edward suggests, wagging his brows suggestively. He can tell Oswald has caught his meaning by the way his expression darkens.

 

“Now that this is actually happening between us,” Oswald says, seizing him by the hips. “I think it’s pertinent to inform you that your fascination with Mr. Fox is _infuriating_ , and I cannot _believe_ you foisted my son onto him.”

 

“I like how jealousy looks on you,” Edward tells him. “This tamer iteration, that is.”

 

“When you’re back up to snuff,” Oswald whispers, nosing along his jaw to speak directly into his ear, voice pitched low. “You’ll see how tame I truly am.”

 

Edward swallows. He can’t wait.

 

***

 

Oswald’s donation helps him kickstart the Riddle Factory. He sets it up in the Narrows, knows his target audience well. They’re all about gratuitous violence. Forcing them to sit through his riddles in order to see said violence is a wonderful bonus. Not only do they pay him an entrance fee, but he then gets to entertain and _be_ entertained when they inevitably fail. A win win win. His dream job, really. He splits the profit with Oswald, rakes in over a thousand each night. Five dollars to enter and at least two hundred people a night after word gets out. And it sure does get out.

 

His third night he cracks the thousand mark and exceeds the fire safety capacity. He hires Lila, pays her one hundred dollars a night. (She’s studying to be a nurse, it’s the least he can do.) He’s about to have a man endure a sack full of rabid rats when someone from the audience pipes up.

 

“All right, that's enough! Enough!” Edward knows that voice. After all this time, Lee is finally seeking him out again. What could she possibly be after? He smiles. That’s the real game.

 

“Doc Thompkins,” Edward says, sauntering over. This should be _interesting._

 

***

 

“What three words are said too much, meant by few, but wanted by all?” Oh, come _on._ Lee is better than this.

 

“That's your riddle?” _That’s your play?_ “You're kidding. Right?”

 

“What's the answer?” Lee asks. There’s something wicked in her stare. She thinks she’s won.

 

Oh this is going to be too—“Easy. I love.” He clears his throat, loud enough for Lee to hear.

 

“The answer is, ‘I love’—” He cuts himself off, playing the part of the conflicted romantic.

 

“I love what, Ed?” They’ve been _over_ this. This is the Riddle factory. He is the _Riddler_. It’s quite simple.

 

“That's not my name.”

 

“Then what's the answer?” Lee asks. She thinks she understands his psyche, that she has him cornered. There’s only one person who can pull him together with a word, and it’s not her.

 

“You tricked me,” he says, playing into her beliefs. “You're trying to awaken a love that isn't there.” The best lies involve an element of truth, of course.

 

“If it isn't there, then say the words,” Lee says, circling him. The crowd is getting riled. They heard him say it, know he knows the words. They don’t want the show to be over. All well. Too bad. So sad.

 

“I won't say it,” Edward decides. If losing the Riddle Factory is the price he has to pay to know her game, he’s willing to sacrifice it. A castle toppled, but he’ll live to riddle another day. It’s too bad, Lila will be out of a job. Perhaps he can find other work for her…

 

“Time's up.” And soon he’ll know her game.

 

He disbands the crowd and waits for her inevitable return, contemplating his neon question mark. He’s definitely keeping that. Always was fond of trophies. Now, to the doctor at hand. Lee has needed him for capital before, perhaps that’s why she needs him again. However, she’s taken away his main hobby and source of income, so perhaps that isn’t the case. Unless she’ll agree to let him reopen, provided she gets a cut. Yet somehow he doubts she’ll let him continue to prey on her denizens… or perhaps he may just have too much faith in her. Ah, here she is now.

 

“Why did you open your club in the Narrows? You could have set up shop anywhere in Gotham. You wanted my attention.” False, he’d followed the baying of the people for blood and filled the void that Grundy had left behind. Lee’s attention _specifically_ is not a commodity he needs. Oswald gives him that and more…

 

“I came back here because the people love me,” he says, smirking. Confidence is key.

 

“People didn't come here because they love you, Ed. They came for the money.” Well, she wasn't wrong. But they also came for entertainment, and any good show needed stakes, incentive.

 

“But I can give them what they want,” she says, closing in. “I just need your help.”

 

“Why would I help you?” Edward asks. So, money was the object, just not for herself. Interesting. But why does she believe that Edward will give her his riches to distribute to the people. He might prefer green, but he’s no Robin Hood. She laughs. Edward bristles at the condescending tone of it.

 

“Because I know what you really want.” Really? He’s not sure she does. There’s nothing he wants that he doesn’t already have. Well, aside from his poor, now closed Riddle Factory. It was so young…

 

“You love me.” The words break through his train of thought. Oh, where had she gotten _that_ idea? “You've loved me all along.”

 

“You're wrong.” Hmm, perhaps it had been when he’d nearly confessed. Edward will admit he’d been a little out of sorts back then, but the band is all back together now. Featuring him and himself. Perhaps he should play into her perception of his current mental state. She believes that who he is currently is solely the Riddler in control. He supposes he’d fed into that idea when he’d attempted to pretend the merge hadn’t happened all those weeks ago, that he was still the Ed she knew and only him... “That was Ed.”

 

“Okay. So do it,” she challenges. What on earth— “Kill me”. Oh, so that’s how she thinks she’ll win him over. By playing a dangerous game. He takes hold of her, lifts a knife to her throat. Maybe now they’ll get to some proper negotiations.

 

“What's your record for how many banks you've robbed in one day?” she asks, catching him a little off guard.

 

“Three. Why?”

 

“I think you can do better.” Oh, but flattery will get you everywhere. Edward can’t help but feel a little pleased at her belief in his abilities, despite the fact that it’s clearly an attempt at manipulation.

 

“You're playing a dangerous game, Lee,” he says, echoing his earlier thoughts.

 

“I know.” She’s turning, fearless, pushing his wrist away. He lets her, mostly because he has no idea what’s given her the impression that she shouldn’t be more afraid of him. Perhaps their history. He isn’t expecting it when she kisses him, throwing her arm around his shoulders, his knife slipping from his fingers. Oswald is going to be _furious_ , but if Lee believes that seduction is her only hold over him, he needs to give her reason to continue to think that it’s true.

 

He closes his eyes and kisses back, the taste of her dark lipstick a little strange. Neither Kristen nor Isabella had preferred such colors. He wonders if that’s what makes it different, or if it’s a matter of brand and product. He’s thankful that his limited experience allows him to operate on autopilot, holding her waist the way he’s accustomed to. He kisses her for as long as she kisses him, chases after her lips when they’re through to really sell it. After all, he’s the one who’s supposed to want her.

 

“Wow,” he says, trying to inject something like bright eyed adoration into his gaze. Lee steps away.

 

“I have some ideas,” she says, walking toward the exit. “Let’s go brainstorm.” It takes him a moment to realize that she expects him to follow. He’ll have to speak with Oswald about this later.

 

***

 

“You _what_?” Edward sighs.

 

“Not so loud, I don’t want Martin to think we’re fighting,” Edward says, rubbing over Oswald’s shoulders.

 

“You _kissed_ her,” Oswald hisses, stiffening under Edward’s hands.

 

“To be fair, she kissed me first,” Edward says, attempting to placate him. Oswald breathes harshly through his nose.

 

“I’m not happy,” he says, seething with rage.

 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Edward asks. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

 

“First instinct? I would have wanted you to _slit her throat_ while you had the chance,” Oswald growls.

 

“Second instinct?” Edward asks, pulling them both down onto the couch.

 

“Doing it _myself_ ,” Oswald says, putting an arm around his waist, fingers gripping his hip tightly. Edward frowns.

 

“And then?” Edward urges. Oswald huffs, loosens his claws a little.

 

“I need her if I ever want to turn a profit from the Narrows,” Oswald concedes. “The Riddle Factory was a good test run. It showed that when the price is right, they do have some liquid capital.”

 

“I think her plan will be good for business,” Edward agrees. “We could see something of a renaissance in the Narrows if the people have money to spend.”

 

“So, you’ve already decided that you’re going to do it?” Oswald asks, face like stone. Edward knows by now that this is a sure sign there’s more to his thoughts than there seems to be.

 

“Of course not,” Edward says. “I’d like to, but I’m asking you. We’re partners. I need to know if we’re both interested in taking this route.”

 

“Tell me what your play is, and I’ll consider it,” Oswald says, utterly impassive. It’s strange to see him so emotionless, but Edward knows it’s only because he’s trying so hard to mask his feelings on the matter and hear him out. He appreciates it immensely.

 

“Lee believes that I’m in love with her, and that she can use that to control me. As long as she thinks I’m wrapped around her little finger, I can play the part while _you_ ,” he boops Oswald’s nose with the tip of his finger, “plan for new business ventures in the Narrows where they’ll spend their unearned cash.”

 

“Go on,” Oswald says, a little more good humored as a result of Edwards antics. The nose boop works _every_ time.

 

“Lee wants schools, hospitals. As long as I’m in control of the money, she’ll have to acquiesce to some of our demands,” Edward explains.

 

“How do you know she’ll let you handle it?” Oswald asks.

 

“She thinks I’m in love with her. And as long as she does, she has no reason not to trust me,” Edward explains. “She’s putting all her eggs in my basket. All of her time and planning for the future of the Narrows is contingent on this endeavor.”

 

“And once you’ve pulled off this heist?” Oswald asks. 

 

“The money will be moved into one of your safehouses. She won’t know that we’re working together until it’s too late. We will of course reveal this as a team when the heists are complete, and the money is in your possession,” Edward begins.

 

“What do you envision our demands being?” Oswald asks, trying not to seem too eager about betraying the woman who has attempted to seduce Edward. It’s nothing personal, after all. Just business…

 

“We’re gonna make her an offa she can’t refuse,” Edward says, adopting a thick accent reminiscent of the old Gotham mafia. Oswald rolls his eyes.

 

“And that would be…?”

 

“Five percent on all ventures—”

 

“ _Five?_ ” Oswald exclaims, leaning forward on the couch. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“Yes, Oswald,” Edward patiently replies.

 

“That’s a paltry sum—”

 

“Which Lee will surely recognize, as will the people of the Narrows—”

 

“To hell with the peopl—” Edward silences him with a finger over his mouth.

 

“That. That right there is the issue. You have an image problem,” Edward says.

 

“An _image problem_?” Oswald echoes disdainfully.

 

“Remember your campaign, how important reputation ended up being? That’s how you won the people of Gotham over. The Narrows knows what you think of them. That they’re trash, not worth the King’s attention,” Edward elaborates.

 

“Well, the truth hurts—”

 

“I see an opportunity,” Edward interrupts. “No crime boss has ever controlled the Narrows. You can be the first. All it will take is a little donation—”

 

“You make it sound so simple,” Oswald cuts in.

 

“Sometimes a simple solution is best,” Edward reminds him. “Five percent on all business, and in exchange we give Lee the funding she needs to rebuild the Narrows. You lose nothing by doing it, since I’m stealing the money anyways.”

 

“I never thought I’d let a pretty face sucker me into investing in the Narrows,” Oswald groans.

 

“You think I’m pretty?” Edward asks, missing the point entirely. Oswald flushes.

 

“Y-yes. I do.” Edward grins and leans in, kissing him.

 

“You won’t regret this,” Edward says. “The people will follow Lee. If she’s says that they have you to thank for the improvement in their quality of life, they’ll thank you.”

 

“If you say so,” Oswald murmurs, kissing him again.

 

“I know so,” Edward corrects. “We’re going to make the Narrows _love_ you.”

 

***

 

“Ed… what hell is this?” Lee hisses under her breath, startled by Oswald’s appearance.

 

“Come now Lee, you’ve met my partner in crime before,” Edward says, heels clicking menacingly as he moves to stand by Oswald’s side, slinging an arm over his shoulder.

 

“Partner?” Lee asks, eyes widening. “You hate Penguin!”

 

“It’s funny you mention that. Did you know I placed a hit on you once upon a time?” Edward asks. “Back when I was… feeling a little divided about the future.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Lee says. “The toy plane… that was you.” Is that a hint of trepidation at last? About time. Edward thinks their friendship has been a little one sided for far too long.

 

“All that love stuff you thought was true...” Edward sighs, leaning into Oswald. “It was just a trick my mind was playing on me, a way to put me back in Oswald’s path so I could exist without inner conflict. Don’t feel too badly, I fell for it too.”

 

“You were playing along this whole time?” Lee asks. “What for?”

 

“For me,” Oswald interjects. “He’s such a _darling_ that way.”

 

“What do you want?” Lee snaps.

 

“A deal,” Oswald says. “You’ll get your money, but at a price. I want five percent of all business in the Narrows.”

 

“There is no business in the Narrows,” Lee says. “You’re asking for a share of nothing.”

 

“There isn’t any yet,” Edward agrees. “Which is why we don’t expect anything. Five percent of nothing is still nothing, after all. We just want your guarantee that when the Narrows is on the up and up, we’ll reap the benefits as well. As a thank you for our… _investment_.”

 

“And if I say no?” Lee asks.

 

“You won’t,” Oswald says. “You made a promise to them. If you don’t deliver, it’s on your head. Do you know what happens to sovereigns who make promises they can’t keep?”

 

“Enlighten me,” Lee deadpans.

 

“They lose their people,” Edward explains. “And sometimes their heads.”

“I can get the money another way,” Lee says. “I don’t need either of you.” She turns, heels clicking as she heads for the door.

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Oswald casually calls after her. “I guess you’ll just have to deal with the aftermath of the fact that you’ve let your territory descend into further ruin while you were busy shacking up with the Riddler and robbing banks. I wonder what they’ll think of that strategy when you have nothing to show for it.” Lee pauses. She remains facing away from them as she speaks.

 

“Five percent of all business, and you give me whatever money I need from what we stole. No conditions?” she asks.

 

“I’ll certainly be keeping track of what you use it for,” Edward says. “Wouldn’t want you trying to pull a fast one on us. I’ll even advise you, if you’d like. But yes, the Narrows would be yours to handle, at your discretion. Just know that you ultimately answer to Oswald. You will be on our payroll, after all.”

 

“Those sound like conditions,” Lee says, turning to face them. Oswald laughs meanly.

 

“My dear, we never said there wouldn’t be any. One more thing: when things begin to improve, you’ll do well to tell them all about their magnanimous beneficiary, won't you?” Oswald drawls in true sycophantic fashion.

 

“Of course,” Lee replies, mouth tightening into a line.

 

“I’m _so_ glad we could clear the air,” Edward says, grinning widely. “Now everyone wins.”

 

“And what do you get out of this?” Lee asks, eyes narrowing.

 

“My two favourite people get what they want,” Edward says. “Your happiness is my happiness. You know, I do still consider you my friend, Lee. Despite this… lapse in your appreciation of said friendship.” Lee is stubbornly silent.

 

“So,” Oswald says, breaking the hush. “Do we have a deal?” Lee hesitates a moment, then steps up to Oswald, offering her hand.

 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Penguin,” Lee says. Oswald shakes it firmly.

 

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Edward says, excitement radiating off him. “I mean, it’s only fair, seeing as you weren’t exactly upfront with me. I don’t like being manipulated by people I consider my friends. No hard feelings?” Lee eyes him up and down, mistrustful, then appears to deflate.

 

“No hard feelings. I thought you were too unstable to be trusted, that the only way to ensure your loyalty was to appeal to the feelings you held for me—”

 

“Nonexistent feelings,” Oswald interjects, blinking slowly at her in warning. 

 

“The point is, I shouldn’t have stooped so low,” Lee says, ignoring him. “You’ve reminded me of that. And I’d appreciate your help. After all, we make one hell of a team.”

 

“I’ll pencil you in,” Edward says, linking arms with Oswald. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a parent-teacher conference to get to.” Lee’s eyes nearly bug out of her head, and it takes everything Edward has not to let his laughter burst free. They walk past her towards the exit, exchanging a wicked glance as they go.

 

***

 

Inside of six months, Oswald has opened two clubs in the Narrows in which the citizens can blow their cash on alcohol, hiring locals to run the place. He trusts they’ll know their clientele. Job growth increases in the Narrows until it’s the fastest-growing microeconomy in the city. Oswald and Edward are _rolling_ in it, turning a profit even Edward hadn’t predicted. As small businesses begin to open, they find no hardship in paying five percent back to the Queen who’d given them the opportunity to change their lives and the lives of their children. Oswald and Edward are patient. Better to wait until the people are comfortable in their prosperity before potentially upsetting things with the big reveal about the Queen’s true benefactor.

 

Edward occupies his time coordinating with the school, the recently erected hospital, and the newly formed public works department. It’s a logistical nightmare, and therefore his pleasure. Lee concerns herself with the actual staff and workers, while Edward accounts for their pay. It takes only a light arm twisting from Oswald to have the school staff and public workers put on the city’s payroll, therefore being supported by tax dollars rather than Oswald’s continued investing. Lee spends her days overseeing the hospital, and before long it’s the most prolific in all of Gotham. Edward had spared no expense acquiring the latest and greatest technology. Go hard or go home. It wasn’t as if he was spending his own money, after all. It’s hard to have sympathy for the billionaires he stole from when they easily could have accomplished what he has. For any moral dilemmas he faces in the process of running the empire, Foxy is only a phone call away.

 

“Is it wrong to fire someone for being homophobic?”

 

“No.”

 

“Can I blackmail Martin’s teachers into recommending he skip a grade?”

 

“Why don’t you talk to them about it first?

 

“Good point.”

 

“Ed, I’m busy—”

 

“I’ll be quick. Will you be my best man?”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“Maybe maid of honor instead, since you’re made of honor—”

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

“Great. What’s your jacket size?”

 

***

 

Sometimes, Edward regrets forcing Oswald and Lee to become better acquainted. The two are more alike than he’d realized. He finds them taking tea together, gossiping over a series of serial killings being attributed to a killer known only as the ‘Hangman’. Edward has little interest in serial killers nowadays. Where was the panache, the entertainment value? There was only a gory crime scene which the GCPD could never fully appreciate in its complexity, particularly so with Lucius back in the employ of Wayne Enterprises.

 

“I think it’s a woman,” Lee tells him. “These are connected somehow.”

 

“It’s clearly the work of a crazed lunatic,” Oswald says, scoffing. “Lord knows we have enough of those.”

 

“What do think?” Lee asks, directing her inquiry at Edward as he sits next to Oswald on the couch.

 

“I don’t care,” Edward replies, shrugging. “It has nothing to do with me.”

 

“There’s a reward,” Lee tells him. “And you’d be showing that you’ve outwitted the GCPD.” Tempting as that sounds—

 

“Did Jim put you up to this?” Edward asks. “Tell him to call me when I can’t pull off spandex anymore.”

 

“I think that’s up for debate, actually,” Lee says, smirking at him. Edward feigns a gasp and clutches his chest.

 

“How dare you,” Oswald cuts in, playing along. “I’ll have you know that it fits him just as well as the day he first wore it.” Lee raises her hands in surrender.

 

“I still think it’s tacky.”

 

“Well, you’ll find no argument here on that front,” Oswald says, wrapping an apologetic arm around Edward’s waist.

 

“You’re ganging up on me,” Edward says, pouting dramatically. “I don’t like this. Why did I ever think it was a good idea for you two to be friends?”

 

“I’ve got to get going, you can take it from here, Oswald,” Lee says, gathering her purse.

 

“Same time next week?” Oswald asks, rising to hug her goodbye. They kiss one another’s cheeks.

 

“As always,” Lee says, treating Edward in similar fashion. “You’ll be there for the new wing’s opening?”

 

“I would never miss an opportunity to take Oswald somewhere in full white tie fashion,” Edward says.

 

“Nor would I miss the chance to see Edward in something that isn’t green for once,” Oswald adds, eying him up and down.

 

“You _love_ the green,” Edward says, bending to whisper in his ear.

 

“Then I’ll see you there,” she says, taking their antics in stride. They walk her out, settling down on the couch together afterwards. Edward presses close until he’s almost in Oswald’s lap, running a hand through his hair.

 

“I missed you,” Edward says, kissing him briefly. “I feel like we haven’t been plotting anything recently, just reaping the benefits.”

 

“I don’t want to be overly ambitious,” Oswald cautions. “It hasn’t always worked out in my favour.”

 

“That was when you didn’t have me,” Edward teases, kissing him again.

 

“We have some time,” Oswald begins, “before Martin returns from school...”

 

“Mr. Penguin,” Edward purrs, “are you propositioning me?” Oswald pushes him back on the couch in response, kissing him fiercely as he attacks the buttons on Edward’s shirt. Edward never does get an answer, but he supposes their subsequent business speaks for itself.

 

***

 

“And now I would like you to welcome the man who has made this all possible: Mr. Oswald Cobblepot!” Lee announces, gesturing toward Oswald as he rises to take the podium and give a heartfelt speech about the new Kapelput wing. Edward had written it for him, and a test audience had found it very touching. That was before he’d tortured them all, of course. It simply wouldn’t do to test them after.

 

‘That’s grandma’s last name?’ Martin signs, tugging on Edward’s sleeve for his attention.

 

‘Yes. Our last name is,’ he’s regretting choosing to sign this now, as he doesn’t know the word for it. He had wanted to avoid making any noise during Oswald’s speech. He fingerspells ‘anglicized’.

 

‘What does that mean?’ Martin asks.

 

‘It was changed in order to be more like English,’ Edward explains.

 

‘That’s dumb.’

 

‘Quite. Now let’s listen to your father.’ Edward is far from worried about Oswald’s performance; he’s quite the accomplished public speaker. Toward the end of the speech, he goes off script.

 

“This wing may be dedicated to my mother, but I’d like to thank the other Cobblepots in my life who have made this possible. My son, Martin, who I will have you know _thoroughly_ tested and approved all the amenities in the children’s wing that was finished last month.” This gets a chuckle out of the audience, and Edward can’t help but reach out and ruffle Martin’s hair proudly. He squirms away and pushes Edward hand, pouting furiously at the humiliation.

 

“And it would truly be remiss of me not to thank my darling husband, Edward,” Oswald says. Edward preens at the attention, eyes fixed on Oswald as he stands proudly at the podium. “Doctor Thompkins was mistaken: none of this would have been possible without _him_. He has been working tirelessly to ensure that this hospital can provide the best quality care to its patients. I’d like to invite your applause.” Edward soaks in the following ovation, winking at Oswald across the room. If Oswald hadn’t previously been on course to getting lucky tonight, he certainly is now.

 

“Thank you all for coming.” He steps away from the podium, kissing Lee on both cheeks and then walking back to their table. Lee takes the podium again to go through the list of lesser donors. As the Narrows had begun to rise, other businessmen and women had taken an interest and begun investing capital as well. Of course, any money they invested was ultimately money being put into the Cobblepot bank account. Edward and Oswald can easily cruise on their five percent stake for the rest of their lives.

 

Some level of vigilance is necessary to protect their investment, however. Agents of chaos like Jerome are a danger to their market, and their attentions need to be directed and controlled. His obsession with Batman has become a blessing for Oswald’s blood pressure, making his goals bat-oriented moreso than turning Gotham into an island for the insane. Edward can’t thank the vigilante enough, really. Well, when he isn’t launching batarangs at Edward’s head for stealing a nice Monet for their master bedroom.

 

“You did wonderfully,” Edward says, tilting his head back to receive Oswald’s kiss.

 

“They’re eating out of the palm of my hand,” Oswald says, tracing his thumb along Edward’s cheek. He presses a kiss to the center of Oswald’s palm, staring up at him through his lashes. Martin is halfway through a bowl of gelato, saving them both from a tantrum about how their public displays of affection embarrass him. Oswald licks his lips and takes a seat, a hand coming to rest on Edward’s thigh beneath the table.

 

“I did promise to make them love you,” Edward whispers, covering Oswald’s hand with his own. Best to keep his voice down. There are ears everywhere.

 

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Oswald says, tightening his grip on Edward’s thigh, stroking up the inside of it. Edward shivers, linking his fingers with Oswald’s to hold his wandering hand.

 

“You can thank me when we’re home,” Edward says, his tone somewhat chiding. Oswald grins salaciously.

 

“Oh, I’ll do all that and _more._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Did I fix it? Please let me know if you enjoyed this at all <3


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